All the Way
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Eighth story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. Still, she almost checked her forehead to see if there wasn't some sign on it that proclaimed, 'I'm going to have sex with the President of the United States.'
1. Chapter One

This is the eighth story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. The others go in this order:  
  
"As I Was Drifting Away;" "In Your Eyes;" "Some Say;" "Stony Limits;" "Beauty and Honor;" "Love's Creation;" "Jewel of Their Souls"  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: "Manchester," "Dead Irish Writers," "The Red Mass" Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I appreciate the opportunity, however, to play with them.  
  
All the Way - Chapter One A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
The pure, honest voices soared, lifting their glorious praise toward the towering stone ceilings and up into heaven.  
  
"Domini fili unigenite, Jesu Christe."  
  
Wrapped in the fruits of Vivaldi's inspiration, Donna could almost imagine that she sat in the ancient halls of a gothic church of Europe. The arches and spires about her spoke of history and grandeur that had seen centuries of humanity worship and fight and worship again. But the bold lines and delicate stained glass represented a much younger congregation of faith and a much younger kingdom. She leaned a bit to her right, squeezing the hand of the current king. He squeezed back absently, then released her grip, not letting his gaze stray from the choir. A poetic thought leaped to her mind that she was Guinevere to his Arthur. He was her Lancelot, too - or at least he had been until -  
  
The poem fell apart abruptly against the doubts that had hammered at her for two weeks, doubts that logic told her were entirely illogical, doubts that experience told her were unfounded - doubts that nevertheless now almost consumed her every thought.  
  
The tenors' notes soared, then floated down, drawing her attention back to the program. It was certainly not the inaugural performance of the Christmas season at the National Cathedral, but it was the President's first visit, so the press was in attendance, as well, anxious to see the First Lady in her first real outing since the birth of the American prince. She wished they weren't quite so attentive, hoped the strain she felt wasn't visible to them, and wondered if anyone had noticed yet that the First Couple didn't sit quite as close together as they usually did, that they didn't lean head-to-head and whisper with private smiles. Did the crackling tension between them drown out the music they had come to hear?  
  
She smiled toward him, leaned forward to coax his attention to her, but he didn't notice - or didn't choose to notice - and she couldn't very well grab his face and turn him. There were too many people there, too many eyes already alert to the very fact that the President of the United States was in the same room with them.  
  
His schedule obviously did not allow him to patronize all the concerts, so C.J. chose for him. Gloria fulfilled three of his requirements: It was written before the 19th century; it was a lively, fast-paced piece, with one tolerable exception in the second movement; and it was being performed by the Harlem Boys' Choir.  
  
At least Jed's ubiquitous dark expression of late had lifted some with total enchantment as the orchestral score built and the soloists fought a vocally choreographed dual of thirds up and down the scale. Donna would not have been at all surprised to hear him sing along with them, Latin and all. He looked as if he wanted to. It was good to see a slight smile on his lips. Smiles had been rare recently and she still wasn't sure why, wasn't clear about what really was going on, but she knew she didn't like it, not one bit. This uncommunicative, subdued, preoccupied man was not Jed Bartlet. Not her Jed.  
  
"Zoey said you've been to a performance of this before?" She leaned in close and blinked at the flash from the audience. Didn't anyone have any etiquette anymore?  
  
"What?" He didn't turn to her.  
  
"The Gloria. She thought it was at one of the Red Masses. She couldn't remember exactly which one."  
  
"Could be," he murmured vaguely.  
  
She glanced sharply at him, having expected him to launch into a detailed soliloquy about the history of the piece and the composer until she had to shush him back to being a polite audience member. The fact that he didn't - that he didn't even seem to be listening to her - bothered her more than she cared to admit.  
  
The rising score and similarity of the movement to the beginning clued her in that it was winding down. Thank goodness. Not that she wasn't enjoying it, but the heaviness in her breasts warned that they needed relief soon, and reminded her that John Thomas probably was fretting for Zoey. Her step- daughter - still seemed strange to think of her that way - was armed only with a bottle, and J. T. had yet to show one bit of interest in that particular source of nourishment. The first time she had tried it on him, his indignant screams left no doubt about his opinion of the poor substitute. Smirking, Jed had expressed sympathy with his son.  
  
"Cum sancto spiritu In Gloria dei patri A - men - "  
  
After an appropriately repetitive chorus of amens, the conductor directed the last note and the audience erupted in enthusiastic applause. Jed stood, prompting an echoing wave. Making the rounds of congratulations to an appreciative - and rather awed - choir and orchestra, they headed outside.  
  
"Detail is ready, sir," Ron announced, falling quickly into step beside the President.  
  
"Okay." Jed had bent his head and turned it slightly to the left to catch the agent's words. Now he straightened again and caught her hand as they exited the building.  
  
She prepared herself for the rope line, for the hand shakes. Even though she still was not totally comfortable with all the adoration, she had grown more accustomed to it. And when she was with Jed, it was easy. She just followed his lead, delighting the crowds who had the serendipity of catching the hand of the President and the First Lady.  
  
"How long are we going to - "  
  
But when they stepped through the massive doors, they emerged under a protective tent, secret service agents in double force around them. It was the first time she could ever recall him using the tent. Even after criticism the service had received for Rosslyn, Jed Bartlet still insisted on visibility, felt it was essential in his connection with his fellow citizens.  
  
"Jed?" She glanced at him to get a hint of why he chose now to be prudent, but his face remained blank.  
  
"No rope line, tonight," he explained curtly.  
  
No rope line? There was always a rope line. Jed had never declined a rope line. Maybe something was up. Certainly there were many possibilities that threatened his time. North Korea was still squawking about their need to develop nuclear capabilities. The results from the O'Hare plane crash had taken an ominous slant toward terrorism. And those were just the big things. There could be any number of problems that forced them back to the White House. She tried not to let it worry her. She'd go crazy if she thought every little thing was a crisis.  
  
As they slid into the vehicle, she smiled, expecting a quick hug or kiss, a playful grope. All were typical of him as soon as they found a moment alone - and sometimes even before. What wasn't typical, however, was what she got. Distance and silence. He had let go of her hand as soon as they reached the car door.  
  
"That was amazing," she said, hoping to prompt a response.  
  
"Yes," he agreed simply, gazing out the window, and that was all.  
  
"Did you know that Vivaldi was also a violinist?" She wasn't sure why she mentioned that, except to find something that would inspire a conversation.  
  
"No," he said, still not moving his gaze.  
  
No? First, she was amazed that he actually didn't know that. And second, she was even more amazed that he admitted it.  
  
"He died broke, like Mozart, and was buried in a pauper's grave." Well, that was certainly an uplifting bit of information. But it still didn't tweak his interest.  
  
"Yeah." Did that mean he knew that already, or did it mean - did it mean he didn't really care. If that was the truth, it was time to worry. Any time Jed Bartlet didn't care about obscure trivia, there was something wrong.  
  
"I hope John Thomas is not too upset that we're late." Another clue, another attempt to draw him into conversation.  
  
This time, he glanced toward her, eyebrows raised slightly in question.  
  
"It's been three hours since he's nursed," she explained with a pointed smirk. Again, she expected his gaze to fall to her breasts, anticipated a sexy comment, or a light touch. But he didn't even lift a hand for a casual caress.  
  
"Zoey's probably ready for us to get home," he mused, looking out the window again.  
  
Well, hell. She gritted her teeth, fighting back tears of hurt and frustration. This had been going on for two weeks - this silence, this distance - since the day they had named their son, a day she thought would be one of relief and closure for him. Since then, any time she screwed up her courage to get him to talk about it - about anything - their conversations, which had previously been lively and witty and deep, ended up as only perfunctory, sterile inquiries into how their days were and how the baby was.  
  
Oh, he still rose in the middle of the night to retrieve his wailing son and bring the child to her to nurse. He still smiled politely and maintained superficial dialogue, but something was missing. A depth, an intimacy. Her mind wandered as they drove toward the Residence, seeking desperately a reason, a meaning to all this.  
  
As the limousine glided through the streets of Washington, her mind stretched back two weeks to the only moment she could target as a possible trigger - and even that didn't really make sense.  
  
It was Thanksgiving night, after he had honored two important men in his life - one who had earned the honor, one who had not - by naming his son after them. But it was the right name. She woke before dawn had completed its arrival, the room clothed mostly in grays, only just beginning to allow enough light to draw out the other colors. For a moment she lay still, allowing her body to assess the day, to get its bearings. It was a familiar position and one she never tired of. She lay on her left side, head pillowed on her husband's right shoulder, her right arm draped across his chest, her right leg across his hips. He was on his back, right arm flung out under her shoulders, legs stretched straight. In the growing light, she looked at him, took in every detail that she loved. Her first instinct - and it never failed to be first - was to smooth her hand across his chest, swirling the hair, tracing muscles that were still firm and defined. He stirred slightly, but didn't shift positions. She looked up at him, at the strong, bold muscle that ran down the side of his neck, at the line of his jaw, at the tanned skin, at the even, noble angles of his face.  
  
It would probably disconcert him a little if he knew she studied him like that, but she didn't care. She still marveled, on occasion, that she was his wife, that she was his confidant, that she was his lover, that he shared an intimacy with her he had shared with only one other person.  
  
She shifted, and as her leg slid over him, she felt the familiar hot brand of his erection. It was morning, after all, and John Thomas was a month old, which meant it had been just over a month since that wild and incredible night in the White House pool. Even so many weeks later, she still blushed at the memory and felt her skin warm.  
  
A grin crossed her lips. He had been so patient, and the emotional strain of almost purging himself of his father's legacy certainly earned him a reward, she thought. Eager to give him pleasure, she ran her hand down his abdomen and slipped her thumb over the swollen head. Eyes still closed, sleep still claiming him, he moaned, arching into her touch. Yearning to climb on top of him and feel him fill her, she swallowed instead and maintained control. But she wanted to relieve him of his need, wanted to watch him when he came, to see the pleasure on his face, to feel the hot rush of his release on her skin.  
  
Suddenly, she was on her back and he was covering her with his body, pushing insistently between her legs, suckling at her breasts. She gasped at the sensation and moaned as her milk let down, tricking between them. Despite the fear that her body was not yet healed, she found herself moving toward him, eager to feel him inside her again.  
  
"Oh Babe, I need you so much," he murmured at her ear. "I want you so badly."  
  
She didn't know whom he was seeing in his mind, realized that he was still asleep, and hoped it was her, but then it didn't matter. She couldn't hold back, was giving in, spreading to welcome him, to take him in.  
  
The first shallow penetration was a sharp reminder, though, of what her body had been through. Instantly, the desire chilled to fear. He was hurting her and she didn't know how to stop him.  
  
"Jed?" A push against him didn't work.  
  
He thrust a little harder and she cried out, some in pain, mostly in fear. The movement stopped abruptly and she was staring into the horrified eyes of her husband.  
  
"Oh hell," he gasped, pulling out immediately. He pushed up to his knees, and his arousal faded with the terrible realization of what he was doing. "I'm sorry - I didn't - I wouldn't - did I - " He broke off, something that sounded like anger and guilt driving his tone deeper.  
  
She scooted up in the bed and knelt with him, touching his face with gentle fingers. "No," she assured him. "I'm okay." In truth, she ached a little, but didn't feel that he had done any damage.  
  
He scrambled from the bed, as if he didn't trust himself to stay close. The pain in his voice was raw, strident. "I didn't realize - I wasn't - are you sure - "  
  
Her arms yearned to draw him to her, to reassure him, but he wouldn't let her come close, so she settled for a smile. "I'm fine. Really." And only with several more reassurances did he accept her statement.  
  
He had been gone when she woke the next morning and since then had studiously avoided any intimate contact with her, usually stumbling in from the Oval Office well after she had gone to bed and rising before dawn to head back down. Sometimes he never came to their bed at all. She would wake to find him sprawled out on the sofa, feet hanging off the end, arm draped across the back.  
  
Since then, too, his distance had grown, almost to the point that she wondered if he was the one having post-partum depression. Was that possible? Something was definitely up, and she was going to find out what.  
  
Her thoughts came back to present as they passed through the gates onto the White House grounds. "It really was wonderful," she repeated of the concert. "Boys' voices have such a clean tone."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"My folks talked about meeting us in Manchester for a few days. Would that be all right?"  
  
"Manchester?" His eyes didn't move from their monotonous line of sight out the window.  
  
She smiled. "Well, yeah. You know, for Christmas."  
  
"Yeah." It was an absent agreement, but he suddenly turned and gave her his full attention. Normally, that would have thrilled her, but his tone was tight, tentative. "Listen, we might not need - well, I may need to stay in - at the White House this year."  
  
"Oh." What was he saying? He had looked forward to this trip since the baby's birth, had gone into elaborate discourse about bringing his son home to the land of the Bartlets, to the country of his fathers. Awasiwi Odanak. Beyond the Village. She had teased him about it and now -  
  
"Yeah. Maybe later we can go."  
  
She felt her eyebrows drawing hard together in frustrated confusion. What the hell was he talking about? But they were at the South Portico and he had stepped from the car, reaching back to help her out, clutching her hand almost convulsively as she stood. Her brain registered several additional agents around the entrance, and she turned to ask Jed about it, but before she could, a familiar greeting trumped her.  
  
"Mister President?"  
  
Leo stepped into the hallway as they entered and she could tell right away that he had something. He just had that look. She hated that look.  
  
Jed stopped. "Yeah?"  
  
"There's a - thing."  
  
If the chuckle that shook Jed's chest slightly carried any humor at all, she would have been ecstatic. But that quality was absent. "Isn't there always?" he noted ruefully. When Leo simply waited, he jerked his chin up and asked, "What?"  
  
"Ron's waiting to talk with you."  
  
Ron? Donna knew that never boded well. Her fears only multiplied when she saw the immediate hardening of her husband's jaw and the darkness in his eyes. He turned to her and said, "Go on up. I'll be there later."  
  
Suppressing the urge to ask about the crisis, she nodded and tried to smile encouragingly at him as he squeezed her hand and walked away. He looked as if he needed to relax, really needed to relax, and if this was as bad as it sounded, he'd need it even more. And she had just the way to do it - if he would let her near him.  
  
Her body missed his touch, missed the massages and the tickling, missed the possessive comfort of his hand resting on her stomach or her hip when she woke. It wasn't just sexual, it was the intimacy of connection, of someone who was a part of her. It was the reassurance that he was there, in every sense of the word. And now she was missing that reassurance. She was missing it badly.  
  
Only two more weeks, she told herself. Only two more weeks before she was cleared for sexual activity. But since Jed's widening distance from her, even in their bed, she began to have doubts that even that could restore whatever it was they had lost. And she wasn't even sure how they had lost it.  
  
Climbing the stairs to the Residence, her body sensed they were near, yearned to feel her child in her arms, at her breast. It was an urge she hadn't known was possible, but the sheer natural desire to draw this little one close overwhelmed her sometimes. Maybe after she nursed, she would try again to crack the strange, uncharacteristic hard shell that her husband had erected around him. Maybe then -  
  
She heard his furious cries long before she even drew close to the door of the nursery, and she was so focused on him that she barely noticed the two additional guards that flanked the hallway. Poor Zoey must be worn out. Sure enough, her first sight was that of her step-daughter pacing the floor, frantically bouncing the infant in her arms. His fists flailed and his face had flushed the color of bricks.  
  
When she caught sight of Donna, she gushed, "Thank God you're here," and thrust the child toward his mother.  
  
"I'm sorry," Donna said, drawing the baby close and satisfying that instinct before she sat in the chair and slipped the gown from her shoulders. Jed Bartlet's son calmed instantly as he comprehended that what he wanted was nearby. The first greedy sucks sent the usual tingle through her before she relaxed into the comfortable bonding.  
  
"He was great until about thirty minutes ago," Zoey explained, flopping onto the floor and pushing back a strand of hair from her face. "He wasn't too wild about the bottle. I think he prefers Mom."  
  
Donna grinned and almost quipped, "Like father, like son," but remembered who she was talking to and bit it off. Instead, she merely said, "Yeah, he does."  
  
They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the uninhibited gulps and sighs from the baby. Yes, like father - but her thoughts darkened again.  
  
"Was the performance good?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Did Dad talk all the way through it?"  
  
"No."  
  
Zoey cocked her head in a very familiar way. "Really? He usually bugs the crap out of me, especially if he's heard it before. 'This is the good part.' 'Listen for the tenor note here.' 'Did you know that Vivaldi was an expert violinist?'" She chuckled fondly. "If he weren't the President they'd throw him out."  
  
Donna jerked her head up. "What did you say?"  
  
"If he weren't the President - "  
  
"No. About Vivaldi being a violinist. How did you know that?"  
  
Zoey shook her head and smiled. "The same way I know most of the inane trivia that is taking up valuable space in my head. Dad told me."  
  
Fighting back the sudden tears that burned her eyes, Donna hid the reaction by bending to kiss J. T.'s head.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
She didn't look up. "Hmm?"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Control it. "Sure." She still pressed her lips against the soft hair of her son.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
Come on. Let's drop this. "Yeah?"  
  
The hesitation was slight, but clear. "Is Dad okay?"  
  
The question startled her so that she straightened and pulled away from John Thomas' mouth. He whimpered in protest. Guiding him back, she looked at the younger woman carefully.  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"You said - well, it sounded as if maybe he - " Pushing from the floor with the agility of youth, she stood in front of her step-mother, eyes holding hers, demanding honesty. "What's wrong, Donna?"  
  
Now she couldn't suppress the tears and they flowed down her cheeks, splashing onto the blanket that wrapped around J.T.  
  
Zoey's eyes widened in alarm. "Donna?"  
  
When she had enough control over her voice to speak, Donna chose her words carefully. After all, this was his daughter. "I'm - not sure, Zoey. Maybe nothing. I'm sure it's nothing." But she knew it wasn't. "He just - he just seems - "  
  
"Distant? Unfocused? Preoccupied?" Zoey supplied involuntarily.  
  
Donna looked up, surprised. If both of them had noticed - Dear God, please don't make this be happening, she prayed. Please, not now. Not now when things are going so well. Not now when he's been given this child. Not now when he has so much to look forward to.  
  
She shifted J.T. to her other breast, meeting Zoey's eyes and seeing the same pain there.  
  
"Do you think - " Zoey began, then stopped. She couldn't say it, either.  
  
Donna tried to stop the panic that threatened to surge up through her, but it pushed out anyway, and the tears rolled harder down her face. Zoey joined her, their mutual fears somehow lending comfort.  
  
Whatever Leo had for him was finished quickly and he joined her again in the Residence, kicking off his shoes and settling in a chair, with John Thomas cradled in his arms.  
  
"So, Zoey's feeling good about her final in her grad stats course, even though she's convinced the professor's holding her to a higher standard because of who her father is." Donna laughed, fully expecting a snide remark from him.  
  
But he didn't respond. He just sat there, staring into the fireplace, and occasionally glancing out the window.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
Still no answer, but his eyes were open and his chest still rose and fell. "Jed?" A little louder.  
  
He jerked slightly, waking the child, who stirred and started to whimper before his father gently jiggled him back to sleep. Clearing his throat, Jed looked toward her, eyebrow lifted in question.  
  
"I was just talking about Zoey," she prompted.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. How's she doing in her stats class?"  
  
"I just - " Biting her lip almost to the point of bleeding, Donna paused to clutch onto her emotions before continuing. "Good. She feels okay about it."  
  
"Good," he mumbled, looking back out the window, his eyes almost hard, brow drawn together in thought or concentration.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
Another slight jerk. "What?"  
  
"You tired?" That was it, surely. He was tired after the concert and whatever Leo had dragged him into. He was just tired.  
  
But he shook his head. "No. I'm good. Go on and tell me about Ellie's school."  
  
If blood could turn to ice, she figured hers was close it freezing now. "Ellie?" she questioned, trying to keep the disquiet from her voice.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You mean Zoey?"  
  
His eyes darted quickly to her face. "What'd I say?"  
  
Quietly, she said, "Ellie."  
  
He shrugged as much as he could with his child in his arms. "Well, I meant Zoey. Tell me about Zoey's day."  
  
Donna swallowed carefully, letting the controlled motion pace the alarms clanging in her head. After a moment, he rose and placed J.T. in his crib, kissing the tiny hand before he straightened.  
  
"I've got that meeting with Ron and Leo," he announced, stepping back into his shoes.  
  
That was news to her. "What meeting?"  
  
"The one - " He paused, spinning a little to throw a glance at her. "I told you about it," he insisted as he flipped his coat over his head and shrugged into it.  
  
"Jed - " But she saw then the alarm in his own eyes and held back. "Okay." Easy, calm. "Will you be late?"  
  
Already at the door, he didn't turn back. His voice was tight. "Probably."  
  
Outside, she heard him order the guards to keep a close watch. Then his footsteps faded and she was alone. The clock sounded evenly, its rhythm orchestrating with the occasional pop of the fire and the gentle breathing of their son. Her mind tried to gain a grip on what had just happened. The fractured conversation. The scattered responses. This was more than just being tired. This was much more.  
  
He was right. The clock had just chimed one a.m. when he trudged into the Residence, stripping off clothes as he crossed the room. When he emerged from the bathroom, he eased onto the bed, obviously careful not to wake her.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
She felt him tense. "Yeah?"  
  
"Long day?" Rhetorical question. The clock and his heavy shoulders had already told her that.  
  
He only grunted as he sat on the edge.  
  
Tentatively, her hand glided over his shoulder, and she discovered he wore a T-shirt. More exploration revealed pajama bottoms, too. It was the first time since their marriage that he had worn anything - except maybe a grin - to bed, and the significance raced in hot splashes over her body. Still, she tried again, letting her fingers knead the tight, hard muscles at his neck.  
  
To her shock, he pulled away, shifting his body forward. Surely he knew what she was offering. Even if they couldn't have intercourse yet, she could relieve him of some stress - had done it before in those late months of pregnancy.  
  
"Jed?" She reached out again, slid her hand around and into his pajamas.  
  
He caught it and guided her away. "I, uh, I've got some work to do, Donna. I'm gonna sit up a while." With a deep breath, he rose, gathered some papers from a chair, and slipped into the sitting area.  
  
His refusal, the first she could remember, made her stomach churn. Dear God. Now she was really worried. Her mind began putting pieces together, began constructing a vast and disturbing puzzle of the changes in the past two weeks.  
  
Would it happen that quickly? And if it did, how long would it be before -  
  
As she lay there watching his silent back, she felt the nauseating terror grip the middle of her chest, even worse than when they thought they faced the possibility of lung cancer. What threatened now was not an unknown danger. This was one that had already delivered some stinging blows, some warning punches. This was one that loomed over him, unwilling to allow him to forget, to give him the freedom, the blessing, of not knowing his future.  
  
And was it here, now, that future?  
  
He didn't even seem to notice when she slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Kneeling on the floor, she clasped trembling hands before her and prayed for mercy, prayed for grace, prayed for strength.  
  
Prayed for Jed. Prayed for all of them. Because if this really was happening, she wasn't the only one in trouble.  
  
The entire United States would have to deal with it, too. 


	2. Chapter Two

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I guess they are AS's still, unless he's turning them over to John Wells now.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Two  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
"Don't you feel any regret over the fact that you blatantly eavesdrop on state secrets?"  
  
Donna smiled as her intended comment startled Margaret to the point of jerking away from Leo's closed door. Usually, the Chief of Staff's secretary would have shrugged and allowed that state secrets were discussed in the Oval Office. Only the less important secrets were available to her from Leo's office. But today, she stared at her friend as if the Pope himself had walked in on her.  
  
"Donna!"  
  
"Relax," she assured her. "It's just me. And I promise not to tell - but only if you spill everything you know."  
  
It was intended as a joke, but the striking redhead straightened nervously and cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly to her desk.  
  
"I, uh, I didn't - I couldn't hear anything," she stammered.  
  
Right. "Okay. What gives?" Donna forced, leveling a pointed gaze at her friend. This must be good.  
  
Margaret suddenly became very interested in the stack of papers on her desk and shuffled them loudly. "Nothing. Really."  
  
"Margaret? This is me. Donna. You've got something good, state secret or not." She had never seen Leo's secretary this flustered and it suddenly shot warnings all the way to her fingers. There was nothing Margaret was more eager to do than share the gossip of the West Wing, unless -  
  
Donna's heart raced when she realized it must be about Jed. It had to be about Jed to solicit this powerful a reaction. After her unexpected rebuff the previous night from trying to give her husband a little personal pleasure, Donna had been on edge, had tried to determine what was going on. Now this next disturbing piece of the puzzle lay on the table in front of her and the emerging picture held less than pleasant clues.  
  
"Margaret," she said seriously. "Tell me." Her voice dropped to an insistent whisper. "Tell me what's going on."  
  
Once more, the other women attempted a distraction. "Really, I probably misheard anyway."  
  
Donna wasn't buying it. "Tell me," she insisted, now standing directly in front of the desk.  
  
The expression on Margaret's face showed a disturbing mixture of fear, anger, pain, and regret. Just that look made Donna's stomach drop.  
  
"I, uh, I'm sure it's really nothing. I'm sure I heard wrong."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
With a heavy sigh, Margaret forced her eyes to look into those of her friend. "I - overheard them, before the door was closed. Leo asked the President how he was doing."  
  
Oh God. Did Leo notice, too? Did Leo suspect? Her conversation with Zoey danced through her mind. Jed was distracted, unfocused, and sometimes downright forgetful. They had both seen it. Now had Leo seen it, too? And if Leo saw it, who was next?  
  
"Did he ask it casually, like a greeting, or was it a definite inquiry into his health?"  
  
Margaret's eyes widened at Donna's comprehension. "An inquiry," she verified. "He asked the President if he was 'managing' okay."  
  
Managing? "What did Jed say?"  
  
Margaret flinched a little and Donna knew she still had not grown accustomed to hearing her call the President by his given name. "He said - " She broke off suddenly. "Look, Donna, there was some noise out here, and I probably heard wrong - "  
  
Dear God, what did he say? "Margaret - "  
  
She bit her lip before blurting it out. "He said he didn't know how long he could continue like that."  
  
Bracing herself physically against the desk, Donna asked, "Like what? Continue like what?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe he just meant he was tired. Maybe he just needed a nap." The earnest voice heartened Donna with its hope, but she didn't really believe it.  
  
"What did Leo say?"  
  
"Well, he, uh, he said they were working on it and maybe it wouldn't be much longer before the President wouldn't have to worry about it."  
  
About what? This was driving her crazy. What was it Jed was so worried about? What was it he didn't think he could continue much longer? "What else, Margaret? Think."  
  
She did think, screwing up her forehead in concentration. "He said he didn't think - he couldn't avoid you much longer." Sorrow weighted down her voice. "He said - " Again, she faltered. "Donna, I don't think I should - "  
  
"Tell me," she urged, her tone fierce.  
  
"He said it was hard being around you."  
  
If Margaret had slapped her in the face, Donna couldn't have been more stunned. The secretary's eyes filled with tears at the absolute shock on the First Lady's face.  
  
"He said - he said - what?"  
  
"I don't want to repeat it, Donna," Margaret pleaded. "Please."  
  
And she didn't want to hear it, either, but she had to. She had to know that's what he said. "Tell me again, Margaret. Tell me exactly what you heard."  
  
Reluctantly, Leo's assistant closed her eyes and repeated the statement. "It was just before Leo came over and closed the door. I heard the President sigh, heavily, and his voice had gotten a little shaky. Not confident like it usually is. He said - he said it was so hard being around you, and Leo told him - he told him maybe it wouldn't be for much longer."  
  
The impossibility of those statements tightened around her chest, created a physical ache that drove straight through her heart. Numb, she stumbled backward against the doorframe, throat burning, hands trembling, stomach churning with nausea.  
  
"Donna?" A slim hand reached out to her, but she shook off the offered consolation.  
  
She had to get out of there. Oblivious to the startled agents who followed her, she staggered upstairs, barely making it to the bathroom before she was sick. Oh God. How could that happen? How could he change so drastically, so suddenly?  
  
Then she thought, "What have I done? What did I do to make him feel this way?" Her mind searched frantically for some action on her part that would affect him so deeply that he couldn't live with her. That he didn't - she could barely even think this - didn't love her anymore. With violent sobs, she fell onto the bed, her entire body shaking with the miserable emotions that swept over her.  
  
It was hard for Jed to be around her. It was absolutely the most frightening revelation she had ever had. And an ironic statement flashed into her mind.  
  
What's next?  
  
By evening, Donna had calmed enough to draw on a little logic. The result was the creation of two theories. The first theory, which was totally unacceptable, was that Jed had simply decided he didn't love her anymore and couldn't stand to be around her. She could not make herself believe that, regardless of what Margaret had heard. She couldn't believe that the incredible love she felt from him had suddenly vanished, couldn't believe that the tenderness and the passion and the teasing and the deep connection were just shallow, false expressions of lust. No, she decided the first theory just wouldn't work.  
  
The second theory, while better for her ego, promised equally disturbing consequences. It was hard for him to be around her because he knew what was happening to him. He understood his body's betrayal, had faced the weakness that he had fought off for so long, but that now had finally caught up with him. And he wanted to protect her from it, to keep her away from the realization as long as possible. Thus, the avoidance, the distance. Well, he'd have to work pretty damn hard to keep her away. She had promised for better or worse, fully knowing that worse could come at any time.  
  
Well, if that time had come, she was ready.  
  
J.T. had been fed and was settled in the crib, where he would stay until his 10:00 p.m. feeding. It was almost like clockwork. To her surprise, Jed arrived a little after 8:00, tie already zipping from around his neck, hand already moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. Normally, this would have instigated some nice caressing. Normally, he would have welcomed her fingers as they ran through the hair on his chest, as they trailed lower to cup him and stir him to arousal. Normally, he would have turned her in his arms and pressed their bodies close so she could feel just how strongly she affected him. But things had not been normal for some time. Still, maybe she could remind him how close they had been, how good they were together.  
  
As he stepped toward the closet, to hang up his coat, she moved in behind him, pressing her body against his and sliding her hands up his stomach and over his chest, planning to help him out of the shirt. With a totally unexpected jerk, he tore away from her as if she had burned him with her touch.  
  
"Jed?" Concern and pain flowed through her tone. She dropped her hands to her sides, not knowing how to react.  
  
He refused to look at her, turned away and stepped into the bathroom. "I'm sorry, Donna," he offered. "It's just - I'm really beat tonight. I had hoped we could just - go to sleep."  
  
"Jed - " she tried again, letting the plea sound clearly.  
  
But his eyes stopped her as he turned and she saw the pain in them, the begging. Never had he looked at her like that. "Please," he said roughly. "Please."  
  
Nonplussed, Donna could only nod and watch him close the door, shutting him off from her just as much physically now as he had done emotionally. How could she reach him, how could she convince him that it didn't matter? That she would be with him the whole time? That she was not leaving, even if he tried to push her away - even if he thought it was for her own good?  
  
Wiping at the falling tears, she leaned over her son's bed, looking at the small replica of her husband, wondering if he was destined to grow up without that father-son connection, without the deep and unwavering love she knew Jed Bartlet could give him. She watched the tiny mouth - Jed's mouth. She gently caressed a small hand - Jed's hand. She looked at the closed eyelids, but knew behind them were Jed's eyes.  
  
The thought that he might not know his father made her ache inside. No, she decided. She would not let that happen. She would not let Jed go. Whether he was moving away from her because he didn't love her anymore, or whether it was to protect her from having to deal with him in sickness, she would not let him go.  
  
He was stuck with her and she was damned if she was going to make it easy for him to get unstuck. 


	3. Chapter Three

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: Jed and Donna are not my characters.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Three A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Okay, tickets to see Wayne Newton in Las Vegas for her mom. Golf bag for her dad - autographed by Tiger Woods. New boxing gloves for Gino - once worn by Oscar De La Hoya. She chuckled at a memory that had grown humorous only with a little time.  
  
And what for Jed?  
  
Christmas loomed before her only a week away and she still had not settled on the right gift for her husband. No - it wasn't that she hadn't settled on it; it was more like she hadn't even come up with an idea yet. What on earth did he need, anyway? Well, nothing, really. It was more what he might want, and she wasn't even sure about that. Maybe if they had been talking more recently -  
  
She tried to push that thought from her mind, tried to focus on what she could get him that would bring him out of the strange and worrisome shell he had ducked under for the past three weeks.  
  
Normally, she shopped ahead of time, but this year she had certainly had a few preoccupations to keep her from that plan. Still, she had a week - and wasn't Christmas shopping even more fun when you had to fight thousands of frantic shoppers for that last Norelco razor?  
  
It was with this joyful expectation that she approached her agents about the necessary trip to the stores of Washington and Alexandria. And surely somewhere along the shelves she would spot something just right for Jed.  
  
But the conversation did not progress quite as she had anticipated.  
  
"Uh, you want to go shopping, Mrs. Bartlet?" Jonah look fairly horrified at the prospect and Donna couldn't suppress a flush of irritation. Duh. It was Christmas, after all. Didn't the secret service celebrate Christmas? Well, okay, maybe not. Still -  
  
"Yes, Jonah. I want to go shopping. You know, for presents. Like everyone else does this time of year." Well, unless you were Jehovah's Witness - or Jewish, but then there were always Chanukah gifts.  
  
"Why don't you give me your list and I'll take care of the purchases for you?" he offered, a hopeful smile that looked more like a grimace crossing his face.  
  
"That's, uh, nice of you, Jonah," she said, not sure at all that he was extending the suggestion just to be nice. "But I prefer to do my own shopping. It's part of the whole Christmas experience."  
  
He shifted his feet nervously. "I'll just - I'll just have to check on that."  
  
"Check on it being part of the whole Christmas experience or check on the shopping?" Okay, that was a comment Jed would make, but she couldn't help it. And it kept her from snapping at her agent.  
  
"Uh - check on the shopping, Mrs. Bartlet," he clarified unnecessarily.  
  
It was one of those red haze moments when you have to wait out the impulse to snatch someone's head off. Jonah kept his only by the barest of margins.  
  
"Check on it with whom?" she asked icily.  
  
"With Agent Butterfield, m'am." He seemed relieved to delegate the blame upward.  
  
"Agent Butterfield?"  
  
"Yes, m'am. I'll talk with him as soon as possible."  
  
"What about now?"  
  
"Well - "  
  
"What about now?" she repeated in a voice that clearly indicated she did not appreciate having to repeat it. In the back of her mind, she decided she was getting rather good at this First Lady stuff.  
  
Jonah straightened. "Yes, m'am. I'll talk with him now."  
  
She smiled sweetly, but it was a smile of victory. "I'll just wait here for you."  
  
Without another word he slipped through the doors of her office in search of the head of POTUS detail. Donna braced for an interesting encounter with the agent. Ron was nothing if not stubborn, and if he decided she couldn't go shopping, she would have to pull some rank to change that. Of course, she did have some rank of her own - and if that didn't work, Jed had some power himself.  
  
As she waited for Jonah to return, her thoughts turned again to her husband. That morning, he had wakened first, dutifully brought J.T. in to her to nurse, then disappeared into the bathroom, emerging showered, shaved, and fully dressed.  
  
"Morning," she greeted hopefully, casting an inviting glance his way.  
  
"Good morning," he returned, pleasantly enough, but still guarded.  
  
"Going already?" Can't you visit? Can't you talk? Can't you even touch me? Please? She wanted to say that aloud, but her pride kept her silent.  
  
"Yeah. Leo's got something early. I'll try to get back up for lunch."  
  
He leaned in for a quick kiss, more habit than anything else. But she didn't let him by with just that. As his lips brushed hers, she caught his tie and dragged him hard against her, opening her mouth to welcome him. She almost screamed with delight when he responded, his lips parting, his tongue slipping through. The kiss deepened, the heat from weeks of celibacy and restraint burning between them. His low groan sounded sweet to her ears, sent tingles through her groin. She wanted him so much. It wasn't too long from then that the doctor would release her. Surely they would be safe. Surely it would be okay just to go ahead and give in -  
  
But he pulled back, wrenching his tie free from her grasp. He stood before her, face flushed, breath coming a little hard. Letting her gaze drop, she smirked at the very obvious effect the kiss had produced.  
  
"Donna, that's not fair - " he began, then straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "I've - I've got to meet Leo."  
  
With her best seductive purr, she invited, "How about lunch? I'd love to - have you for lunch."  
  
She truly expected him to return the serve with just as much innuendo as she sent it, but he simply nodded, backing up as he did. "I'll - see what I can do. The meeting might take awhile."  
  
"Jed - "  
  
He was gone, the door closing behind him, shutting her off once again from whatever he was feeling, whatever was going on in that brilliant and mystifying mind of his.  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet?"  
  
Drawn from her reflections, she looked up to see Jonah standing by the door, his body language tense, wary. He was alone. No Ron Butterfield in sight. Probably not a good omen for her plan. But he only said, "The President wants to see you, m'am."  
  
The President. Jed. Wanted to see her? About shopping?  
  
She half intended to refuse, but her better judgment won out and she simply nodded. "Okay. Tell him I'm coming."  
  
The obvious relief of Jonah's face almost brought a chuckle to her lips. Would have, if she weren't already shifting her attention to the possible discussion ahead. If Jed was involved in this decision already, without her prompting, it was simply another indication of something being a bit off kilter.  
  
She entered the Oval Office tentatively, constantly on edge for what she might encounter with this new version of her husband. He didn't look up, just continued to scribble on the paper before him. She wondered if he regretted leaving that morning. Wondered if he wished he had stayed and spent those early hours making love to her, holding her, touching her, like he hadn't done in weeks. But she also wondered if he really wanted to. Margaret's sickening words stabbed her, as they did every time she thought of them.  
  
"He said it was so hard being around you."  
  
Surely that wasn't true. Surely it was just - it was just - She bit down hard to fight back the tears. His actions certainly supported that statement. He avoided her at every possible moment. He held back on anything intimate - whispers, touches, looks. All the things they used to share; all the things they used to treasure between them. And she was aching for it, yearning for him.  
  
He still hadn't looked up. Finally, she cleared her throat to gain his attention.  
  
This time, his eyes rose to meet hers and she pushed back a startled gasp. His face was drawn and haggard, the familiar twinkle absent, the mischievous energy missing. He looked tired. So tired. When had that happened? How had she missed it? Or had it been easy not to see what was happening? Had she avoided him just as much as he avoided her - so she wouldn't see what she feared?  
  
With a sigh that slumped his shoulders, he rose stiffly, pushing away from the desk with obvious effort. "Donna," he said simply, voice tight.  
  
"Hey." Try being casual, light.  
  
He leaned back against his desk, not even moving in for a quick kiss, not even bringing himself close enough to catch her hand. "You can't go shopping."  
  
Abrupt. Final. It surprised her so much that she couldn't respond immediately. When she finally did find her voice, it came out more hostile than she intended.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
At least he held her gaze this time. "You can't go shopping. Jonah told Ron you wanted to go shopping."  
  
"Yeah? What does that have to do with you?" That, too, came out harsher than she meant it, but she couldn't quite hide the growing anger.  
  
"It - Ron came to me about it - "  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Look, Donna," he began, stepping forward with an extended hand. She pulled away and he let it drop. "You're the First Lady, now. You can't just - go shopping."  
  
"You do." That was true. Every Christmas the service cleared a store for him - usually a bookstore - and he spent an enjoyable hour or so picking out gifts. What was the difference here?  
  
"It just - it's different when - " Looking down, then completely away, he stepped back behind his desk, as if that gave him the power of the office even against his own wife. "You can't go shopping. Send someone with a list, but you can't go shopping."  
  
It was the first time in their relationship that she was truly mad at him. Anger flew over her, sweeping up her face, reddening her cheeks, sharpening her tongue. "Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can't do?"  
  
His startled expression should have calmed her, but it didn't. She had only just begun.  
  
"You're going to ORDER me as Commander-in-Chief not to go shopping?"  
  
A she heard her voice rise, she knew this was not the way to handle it, but her control had let go too much, and she gave in to the impulse of reaction. She was yelling now, and wondered vaguely if they could hear her in the outside offices.  
  
Jed had reached the same level as well. He snapped back, hair falling over his forehead with the force of his response, "Yes! If I have to, yes! That's what I'll do!"  
  
In spite of her anger, she was almost glad to see the reaction. It was the most passion he had shown since Thanksgiving. They stared at each other for a long moment and Donna wondered if Jed was just as shocked as she was.  
  
Finally, he clenched his jaw hard and said, voice low, "You can't just go out there to shop."  
  
"Why?" She dared him to say it - whatever it was. Say it. Tell me why.  
  
Their eyes locked, wills battling. After a full minute of stubbornness from both of them, he turned away and breathed out heavily. "Only with Ron's arrangement."  
  
Well. Okay.  
  
Fighting to keep the victory from her face, she nodded, disturbed at the words that had passed between them - or at least the ones she had said.  
  
He sat down heavily in his chair, his hand reaching up automatically to rub against his temple. Her ire fading abruptly, Donna moved directly in front of the desk.  
  
"You have a headache?"  
  
His head snapped up, his eyes shining with clear regret that he had allowed that absent gesture to betray him. Straightening, he shook his head. "No. I'll talk with Ron about the shopping.  
  
Damn him. Why couldn't he just admit he was sick? Why couldn't he let her in on whatever the hell was going on? "Why don't you rest a little while?" she suggested gingerly.  
  
Now he stood again, in defiance of her suggestion. "I said I'm fine." His tone was curt, hard. "Look, Donna, I'm - "  
  
"Busy. Yeah. Thanks for giving me 'permission' to go out of the house." She had always possessed an aptitude for sarcasm, and it oozed through her words. Before he could respond, she was out the door, Ms. Fiderer and Charlie a vague blur as she fled past them toward the Residence.  
  
Heart racing, she dismissed the agent that served as both protector and babysitter to J.T. and stood over the crib, gazing down at his sweet face, his lips parted in slumber, cheeks pink, chubby hands clenched around two pacifiers that would never take the place of mother's breast.  
  
Love so deep, so powerful it hurt, flowed from her to her son - to Jed's son. As she stroked his soft blonde hair, she tried to picture the three of them in the coming years: father, mother, and son. Tried to see the milestone moments of walking, talking, reading, starting school. And it sent a streak of horror and dread through her that her visions brought only two of them together for those events. A son - and a mother.  
  
Jed wasn't there. And try as she might, she couldn't place him in the picture. It was a terrifying and heart-ripping realization. 


	4. Chapter Four

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Four A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
"'On the fifth day the squirrels brought a present of wild honey; it was so sweet and sticky that they licked their fingers as they put it down upon the stone. They had stolen it out of a bumble bees' nest on the tippitty top of the hill. But Nutkin skipped up and down, singing - '"  
  
Donna Bartlet slowed her brisk stride as she drew closer to the nursery, letting the familiar, rich voice flow over her, its smooth strains comforting, endearing. Carefully, she peeked around the door, hesitant to break whatever magic was being practiced in the room. In the rocking chair sat her husband, baby cradled in the crook of his left arm, book held out before him in his right hand, glasses perched a little low on the bridge of his nose. He was as relaxed as she had seen him in a long time, dressed in worn jeans and a soft, thin sweater that buttoned at the neck. She smirked as he sang the silly song, but the smirk turned into a tremble at the fragile tenderness in his voice.  
  
"'Hum-a-bum. Buzz! Buzz! Hum-a-bum buzz! As I went over tipple-tine I met a flock of bonny swine; Some yellow-nacked, some yellow backed! They were the very bonniest swine That e'er went over Tipple-tine.'"  
  
Okay, the smirk was back. Surely he was not singing that to the tune of "Yellow Submarine." She listened closer. Yep. That was it. She somehow doubted that Beatrix Potter had that song in mind when she wrote her famous children's book. Nevertheless, the words actually almost fit, and J.T. seemed completely taken with his father's serenade, his eyes, which mirrored Jed's, wide and alert, his arms waving in excitement.  
  
Nimbly turning the page with his thumb, Jed continued reading. "'Old Mister Brown turned up his eyes in disgust at the impertinence of Nutkin. But he ate up the honey!'" He paused, looking away from the book and directly at his son. "Now, John Thomas, there's a word you need to know, especially when dealing with republicans. "'Impertinence.' Rudeness. Insolence. Sauciness."  
  
She watched him grin and wondered what he was thinking until he confided, "Well, rudeness and insolence are one thing. But sauciness. Now that's not necessarily bad. Your mom, for example, can be quite saucy."  
  
"Jed!"  
  
It was out before she could stop herself. She marched into the room, hands on hips, expecting him to jump at the sudden intrusion, even to be angry at her eavesdropping. But once again, he surprised her.  
  
Without flinching, without even turning, he said, "See?"  
  
And the moment was so natural, so relaxed, so welcome, that she found herself with a goofy smile on her face and tears in her eyes. He turned then, and his eyes scanned her, ran up and down the length of her, devouring her without a word. For a moment she envisioned him standing and laying the baby back in the crib, then taking her hand and leading her to their bedroom, to their bed, touching her, holding her, loving her.  
  
When she focused again, though, he was still sitting in the chair, still holding J.T. But he was still looking at her, too. Loath to lose the precious moment, she smiled at him, as invitingly as she could.  
  
"What eventually happens to Squirrel Nutkin?" she asked, partly in jest, partly in real interest.  
  
To her delight, Jed had apparently decided to play along. "Old Mister Brown beat the hell out of him and made squirrel dumplings later that night."  
  
"Seriously?" That seemed rather violent, even for Beatrix Potter.  
  
Jed laughed. Not his true, deep, laugh, but a pleasant sound, nevertheless. "Nah. Actually, he was going to skin him, but Nutkin escaped. Of course, he broke his tail in two in the process."  
  
Ouch. "What a lovely story," she decided with a grimace.  
  
"But great vocabulary," he countered.  
  
"So we'll have a sesquipedalian son who is a bully."  
  
His brow rose sharply in surprise and she laughed. She had been waiting at least three months to use that word, one she had discovered from "It Pays to Increase Your Word Power" in an old Reader's Digest she ran across at two in the morning.  
  
"Sesquipedalian," she repeated in her best teacher's voice. "Having many syllables. Using long words."  
  
"I know what it - I just didn't think - " He wisely stopped before getting his foot too far into his mouth, a mouth that could - and sometimes did - boast of years of experience and talent with sesquipedalian words.  
  
She grinned. "I think just about any comment you can make right now would plunge you to the depths of hypocrisy."  
  
To his credit, he simply shrugged in acceptance and, shifting J.T. to his right arm, stood and settled the baby in his crib, turning on the mobile of the planets above him. It was a gift from Toby, strangely enough, and Donna figured the communications chief couldn't bring himself to purchase Noah's Ark or Winnie the Pooh figures. So, instead, her child's early visual experience was a cloth Saturn and Jupiter smashing into each other every time the infant kicked hard.  
  
When no scream of protest drew him back down to the crib, he straightened and took several steps forward. Her heart leaped in her chest at the prospect of feeling his touch again, of having his arms around her. But he stopped short of that. Still, he reached out and took her hands in his.  
  
"Donna," he began, eyes shifted downward with uncharacteristic hesitancy. Discomfort stiffened his body.  
  
She waited.  
  
He tried again. "Donna, I know I - I know things have been - well, sometimes things happen that - that are hard to face - "  
  
Oh God. The tightness that squeezed her throat took her breath. What was he saying? What was he saying?  
  
"Something's happened and I feel, well, I need to tell you - I don't want to - "  
  
I'm going to throw up, she thought. He's telling me he doesn't love me anymore - that he doesn't feel the same way he did - or maybe he never really loved me - and I am going to throw up.  
  
But before he could drop the hideous news on her, a knock at the door interrupted. She saw his jaw muscles clench in frustration. "Yeah?" he called, not at all politely.  
  
Peeking in, Charlie winced when he saw the two of them holding hands. "I'm sorry, sir, but you wanted to know as soon as Agent Butterfield - "  
  
"Yes!" he snapped, dropping her grip and stepping past her in only a second or two. "Tell him I'll be right there." Almost as an afterthought, he glanced back at her. "I'm sorry. I'll - We'll talk later."  
  
She wasn't sure why she blurted it out. Maybe it really was because she didn't know what to say. "Don't bother. I'll be shopping - If I'm still allowed to go."  
  
He stopped and swung back around, the line of his jaw twitching. "Donna, I told you that - " With visible effort, he locked down his anger and drew his voice to an even level. "I said Ron would arrange it."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks." Well, damn it. She had promised herself not to lose her cool, not to antagonize him. But what did it really matter now? "I guess my mom won't mind getting a White House paper weight for Christmas this year?"  
  
"Your mom?" It was something about the way he asked that set off the alarms in her brain. Like he didn't know what she was talking about.  
  
"My mom. You know, the mother of your wife." Maybe she put too much of a sneer on "wife," but he didn't seem to notice.  
  
He frowned and the visible defensive mask slid over his features. "What about her?"  
  
The alarms rang louder now, quickening her pulse. "She's - she's coming for Christmas, along with Dad and Gino - "  
  
"Yeah. Okay." But, despite his quick agreement, he had been surprised, had not remembered that - even though they had discussed it already.  
  
Donna forced herself to stay calm, tried to hear over the clanging in her head, urged the battling emotions not to destroy her just yet.  
  
"Look," he offered, still not meeting her eyes, "I've got - we'll just - there are some things - we'll just talk later. Tonight, all right?"  
  
She had never heard him so ineloquent, so at a loss for words. It spoke louder than anything he could have said.  
  
"Okay," she whispered, unable to pull any more volume from her voice. As he left, she felt herself moving through the building, heading instinctively to the only place she knew would provide her the answers she yearned for.  
  
"He's in," Margaret said quietly, her eyes worried, her brow drawn. "You okay?"  
  
Donna had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way down, and she knew how she looked. Pale, thin. She knew it. Margaret saw it.  
  
No. I'm losing my husband.  
  
"How's - how's - Jed?" It was the first time her friend had let herself use anything besides "the President," and it was somehow more heartbreaking now that -  
  
"Busy." A truth, at least.  
  
"Yeah. Okay." They exchanged a look of mutual sadness, both mourning the apparent loss of the joy that had captured not just two people but an entire nation. Then Margaret cleared her throat and said, "Leo's waiting."  
  
The light brush of shoulders conveyed sufficient strength for her to step forward.  
  
"Donna." Leo smiled, a fleeting expression. "What can I do for you?"  
  
No waiting. No mincing of words. "What's wrong with Jed?"  
  
The chief of staff froze before his instincts kicked in enough to try a little distraction. "I've asked myself that for years," he laughed, but it was forced. "Too many brain cells and not enough green vegetables, I think."  
  
It didn't work. "Leo - "  
  
He turned toward the window, and, in the reflection, she saw his eyes close. "Donna, I don't think - "  
  
"It doesn't matter. I know already." She didn't want to admit it, but she did.  
  
He turned back to her, head cocked to assess what she did know. "You do?"  
  
"Yes. Does he want me to leave?"  
  
Leo's sigh only verified her suspicions. Nausea rose in her throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know," he admitted. "It might help. It might not."  
  
Well, at least he was honest. "How long?"  
  
"Since just after Thanksgiving."  
  
"Why does he stick around?" Was she really asking these questions? This was just surreal.  
  
"Where would he go?"  
  
Fair point. "Why doesn't he ask me to go? I could - " Oh, this was hard to say - impossible to believe. "I could go home. Wisconsin." But then he'd want to stay near to J.T., wouldn't he?  
  
Leo shook his head. "That wouldn't solve anything."  
  
Finally, she couldn't hold back, couldn't bear the burden that was crushing her. How could they just stand here and talk calmly about this? How could things have changed so drastically? So quickly? How could her life be falling apart when it had just come together?  
  
"God, Leo," she groaned. "What am I going to do? How can I face this?"  
  
Her sobs startled him, but after a moment's hesitation, he drew her close, held her. "It's okay, Donna," he soothed. "It'll be okay."  
  
She fought back the anger. How could he say that? He had no idea.  
  
Gently, he stroked her hair. "You'll get through this. You and Jed will see each other through this."  
  
The weight of her despair dulled her senses, muffled her comprehension, so it took a few beats for his words to sink in. When they did, she caught her breath and pulled back.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What what?"  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said you'll be okay. You'll see each other through this."  
  
What was he talking about? "Leo, I thought - I mean - " She swallowed, forced to verbalize the worst fear for the first time. "Jed doesn't - Jed doesn't want me anymore."  
  
Sheer astonishment broke across the face of Jed Bartlet's oldest friend, followed quickly by confused amusement. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"He - he doesn't want to be around me anymore. Margaret heard him tell you. And I see it, too. He won't touch me. He avoids talking with me for any length of time. We're rarely together anymore. He won't even let me - " She broke off, not willing to reveal too intimate a detail, even in front of Leo.  
  
But to her surprise, he started to chuckle, then let the laughter build to a full sound. "Donna!" he managed. "Are you serious?"  
  
Well, yeah. All she could do was to stare at him and wait for an explanation.  
  
When he regained a little more control, he took her shoulders in his hands and shook his head. "Doesn't want you anymore? Are you crazy? Do you know how deeply Jed Bartlet loves you? Dear God, Donna, the man's devoted to you. He adores you. He is absolutely - and sometimes nauseatingly - in love with you. Can't you see that?'  
  
Well, she thought she did, but -  
  
"Then why is he avoiding me? Why won't he let me get close to him? Why won't he let me - "  
  
Suddenly, the expression dropped, along with the hands and his eyes. "I think - I think maybe you two need to talk - "  
  
The brief relief crumbled under an old assault. "Leo, tell me! What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
But he wouldn't budge. "This is something he needs to tell you."  
  
"Leo - "  
  
"No. I can't - I'll tell him you're waiting - "  
  
"In the Oval," she decided. Maybe the official setting would give her the strength to accept whatever he had to say.  
  
He loved her. He adored her. That only left -  
  
"No. I changed my mind. I'll be in the Residence," she said. Make him as comfortable as possible. She knew it would be hard enough for him as it was.  
  
Leo nodded solemnly and she felt his eyes on her as she left.  
  
This was it, then. This was the beginning. She would cry when he told her; they would hold onto each other. But she was ready, had known it would happen eventually. They'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. But she was ready to do whatever he needed her to do - except leave. 


	5. Chapter Five

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: These characters, except for John Thomas, are not mine.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Five A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Flames danced in the fireplace, warming the room both physically and emotionally. Soft music floated from the CD player and two drinks waited patiently on the coffee table. All that was left now was the arrival of the person for whom this preparation had been done. Donna stood by the bed, fidgeting a little, not sure what she wanted to accomplish, except letting him know it was all right. She resisted the urge to gulp down the scotch. He might need it. She certainly would.  
  
Her attention focused on the music, following the words in her head. The choice was not random, but a carefully thought-out selection that would help her convey her feelings; that would convince him of her devotion - regardless of what their future held. She had heard it just the day before on a public radio salute to the crooners and found the classic message perfect. Margaret had been sent on the mission to pick it up. Now she hoped it fulfilled her goal.  
  
With the magic of technology, someone had created a duet between Celine Dion and Frank Sinatra. Breaching the seemingly impossible barriers of time, their voices entwined to the strains of "All the Way," a song that promised commitment, that offered total devotion and steadfastness. It was what she wanted to say to him, what she wanted him to know he would always have from her.  
  
The door opened tentatively, drawing her thoughts back. That in itself was unusual, a departure from his accustomed fling-and-stride entrances. Instead, he eased in, brow furrowed in anticipation, body visibly braced for their encounter. She had already forgotten her anger over the shopping trip. There were things more important now to deal with, and he didn't need that baggage.  
  
"Hey," he greeted stiffly, quietly, moving with hesitant steps a little closer to her. She wondered exactly what Leo had said to him, wondered how much he knew she knew.  
  
"Hey." One hand stretched toward him with the drink. He took it and sipped a couple of times before placing it on the low table.  
  
When had this happened, this awkwardness, this skittish dance around each other?  
  
"World problems?" she questioned lightly, then kicked herself. Coward. Can't tackle the hard issue.  
  
But he seemed to appreciate the easier lead in. "Korea," he explained, loosening a bit. "My strategy backfired." His breath came out in a humorless chuckle. "Again."  
  
"How?" She wished they'd move on. Not that she didn't care about Korea, but - well, actually maybe she didn't really care about Korea. Not right now, anyway.  
  
"We almost had them backing down, but I had to insist on - on all or nothing. Now - we're sure they've conducted several tests of nuclear weapons. They're not even trying to hide it anymore. If I'd just - "  
  
"You did what you thought would work, didn't you?" This small bit of conversation was blunt reminder of how complicated his life was, and gave her even more resolve to make the part she could influence easier.  
  
"Well - "  
  
"And you didn't make the decision alone. You have advisors. They thought the same thing."  
  
He just shrugged, and she saw him mentally shift gears. Maybe this was the time. Clearing his throat, he initiated the subject.  
  
"Leo said - Leo said you - had figured some things out."  
  
She nodded, waiting for him to continue, wanting him to feel free to go at his own pace. But it was hard to do that when she really wanted to throw herself in his arms and tell him it didn't matter, it would be all right, she would be with him.  
  
The lines on his face had deepened even since that morning, if that were possible. The burden weighed down his shoulders. Oh, how she wanted to go to him, to pull him down on the sofa with her, to lay his head in her lap and stroke his hair and kiss his lips and tell him everything was going to be okay. But she didn't. She couldn't. Because he still held himself at a distance from her. And because she knew that despite her strongest wishes, everything wasn't going to be okay.  
  
His lips pursed in thought, in preparation. "I wanted to tell you, but, then again, I didn't." An ironic smile curved them. "I figured you'd be happier not knowing." Now he laughed, just slightly. "But I suppose it's worse now that you know and I wasn't the one to tell you. I'm sorry." It was a simple statement, but plainly heartfelt. She saw the regret in his eyes. More guilt.  
  
"Jed - "  
  
"No." His hand came up, open palmed, to stop her. "I knew this could happen. I knew what you were getting into, and I should have - I should have been clearer about it. Maybe then you could have chosen - "  
  
"Josiah Bartlet," she scolded, unable to hold off any longer. Did he truly think she wouldn't have married him - that she didn't know this could happen one day? "There is absolutely nothing you could say that would make me change one thing that has happened. I came into this with eyes open. I knew what the chances were."  
  
He sighed, with both relief and regret washing across his features. "I was trying to protect you, trying to - keep the unpleasant things away from you, and from J.T."  
  
Ignoring his body language that still thrust up a barrier, she stepped forward, letting her hands rest on his chest, feeling him tense, then feeling the immediate increase in the pumping of his heart. "You can't protect us from everything, Jed," she told him. "I signed on for the long haul. This is not you and me. This is us. What happens to you, happens to me."  
  
"That's what scares me - " He tried to say, but she placed her fingers over his lips.  
  
"I'm gonna be with you, Jed. I'm gonna be with you all the way," she whispered, drawing close to his ear. Leaning down, she picked up the remote from the table and punched a button until she found the chosen song again. "Listen to this. Listen to how I feel."  
  
They stood in each other's arms as the mellow music swirled around them, binding them together. Donna focused on the words, tried to push them into his brain, to make the message hers.  
  
"When somebody loves you, It's no good unless he loves you All the way.  
  
Happy to be near you When you need someone to cheer you All the way."  
  
Her arms stretched upward around his neck; her head fell against his shoulder.  
  
"Taller than the tallest tree is, That how it's got to feel. Deeper than the deep blue sea is, That's how deep it goes, if it's real."  
  
She felt him let go of the tension with a heavy sigh, felt his hands slide down her back, felt his lips in her hair. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to touch her, so long since she had felt his caress.  
  
"When somebody needs you, It's no good unless he needs you All the way.  
  
Through the good or lean years And for all those in-between years, Come what may."  
  
Come what may. It didn't matter. She would be there. Did he hear that? Did he believe that?  
  
"Who knows where the road will lead us? Only a fool would say. But if you let me love you, It's for sure I'm gonna love you All the way."  
  
As the track faded and the notes lingered in the air, she drew back and took his face in her hands, letting her lips take his with the passion they had missed for so long. This time he didn't resist, but clutched her to him, giving back just as hard, just as hot, as she gave. They had always had passion, always had desire. She wondered if that was one reason he avoided her, that he feared the onset of the disease had robbed him of his ability to show his love in that way. And she wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him it didn't matter. There were other ways.  
  
But in this moment, as he held her tightly against his body, she realized maybe she was premature in her assessment. He hadn't been affected that way - at least not yet. The hardness pressing into her almost surprised her, but he didn't seem caught off guard. In fact, he groaned into her mouth and ground their hips together, letting her feel the growing heat.  
  
Grateful for the continuation of this gift, she let herself go, running her fingers through his hair until it was wild and rough, tearing at the buttons on his shirt so that they popped off, bearing his chest to her tongue. She didn't care that she hadn't seen Dr. Carlstein yet, didn't mind that there was no official release. It was almost seven weeks. Long enough for her. More than long enough.  
  
His lips slid down her throat, his breath hot on her skin. She felt herself throbbing with anticipation. How she had missed this, how she had missed him. Not just the physical touch, but the emotional connection. She needed him.  
  
Her hands roamed freely, pushing the shirt from his shoulders, fumbling with the belt buckle, brushing against the pulsing bulge just below it. She wondered if they would make it to the bed, decided it didn't matter. It wouldn't last long, anyway. Both of them were too far gone, too lost in desire to slow it down now.  
  
So it was totally unexpected when, with a tortured moan, Jed tore himself away from her and stepped back, his chest heaving, his arms shaking. "Donna," he ground out, with effort. "We - I can't - "  
  
"It's okay," she assured him. "It'll be okay." Her hands tried to pull him back, but he shook his head.  
  
"No. I can't - "  
  
She smiled and cupped him, enjoying the delicious agony on his face. "Yes, you can."  
  
"Oh God." He caught her wrist and pulled her away from him. "No, I meant - "  
  
"Jed, I want you to make love to me. Don't worry about the future. Don't worry about what might happen tomorrow. It doesn't matter to me. We'll face that when it happens. There are many ways you can show your love for me. It'll be this way now. Later, well, it doesn't matter."  
  
"Baby," he groaned, and she smiled. He hadn't called her that in weeks. It was good to hear again. But then he stopped and slowly pulled back, eyebrows drawn together, eyes puzzled. He stared at her for a long time, long enough to worry her. "What - what are you talking about?" he finally asked.  
  
Don't make it harder, she pleaded silently. Let's just take advantage of the moment, enjoy this time. "Leo told you I knew," she reminded him. "It's okay. I'll help you if you - if you need help. And there's more to love than intercourse. There's more to our relationship than sex."  
  
But instead of the relief she expected to see on his face, more confusion gathered. "Donna, I don't think - that's not - " He shook his head, grasping her shoulders. "What exactly did you tell Leo?"  
  
"I told him - I told him I knew what was wrong with you. You've been avoiding me, Jed. Don't deny it."  
  
He didn't, but his eyes still asked her to continue.  
  
"You've tried not to touch me, not to be too close. You've worried more about things." She dropped her tone, not wanting to make him feel any worse than he already did. "You've been - distracted, unfocused."  
  
"Donna - " He began, but she wouldn't let him say it.  
  
"No. It's okay. It's going to be okay." So she said it anyway, hoping that by voicing it, she might make it true. "We'll deal with this. I love you. I love you so much, and nothing is going to change that. Do you understand?" Her hands took his face again, forced him to look into her eyes. In his she saw the tears he had not allowed himself earlier, and she had to turn away again.  
  
"Oh, Baby," he breathed, slipping his hands up her neck. "I love you. Look at me."  
  
She did, thinking she could not be happier than this moment. But he wasn't finished. Covering her hands with his, he held her gaze. "Listen to me Donna. I'm fine," he told her firmly. "I'm not sick. There's no - there's no progression of the MS."  
  
"It doesn't matter," she repeated. "I told you I don't - "  
  
Wait. What the hell did he say?  
  
Now her mind reeled in confusion. Her entire premise, her whole scenario had fallen apart. Relief washed over her. He wasn't sick? He wasn't sick! Oh thank God. Thank God he wasn't sick. Despite her resolve, despite her total devotion to do whatever she needed to do, she couldn't help the almost orgasmic release that the realization brought. He wasn't sick! She was laughing, and he was laughing, and she had been wrong. She could be happier.  
  
But the joy at that revelation was muted by the sudden, new concern. He wasn't sick. But if he wasn't sick, then what on earth was wrong? What terrible thing had he been unable to tell her?  
  
"Jed, I thought - but you're not - then what - "  
  
"When Leo said you knew, I thought he meant - I thought you knew about - " But he fell short, eyes falling to settle on the floor somewhere.  
  
"Knew about what?" she asked, her voice a mixture of a plea and a demand.  
  
He looked at her again, and she saw the decision made in his eyes, knew to give him the beat or two to gather his words. "Sit down, Donna," he said, but it was more a request than command.  
  
She complied, perching in frozen anxiety on the edge of the couch. As he sank down next to her and took both her hands in his, she looked into his eyes, saw the pain, and knew this couldn't be good. 


	6. Chapter Six

Thanks for the feedback. Hope this provides a little satisfaction for some of you. Please keep reading. It's not quite over yet.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen" Rating: R Disclaimer: These are not my characters.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Six A West Wing Story  
  
by MACH  
  
"Sit down," he had said.  
  
And she was. She was sitting, and she was watching him, eager to discover what was wrong, but terrified about it at the same time.  
  
Jed Bartlet didn't exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve, but Donna had known him long enough to recognize the signs of turmoil. She had seen those expressive eyes shift from carefree to careworn in an instant. She had watched the broad shoulders square, then slump, then square again. She had felt his muscles tense, relax, tense. Only moments before they had laughed together in relief, in true communication for the first time in three weeks.  
  
He loved her.  
  
He was not sick.  
  
That in itself was enough to right her listing world. But what was it then? What had kept him from her arms for so long? What had stiffened his easy interaction with the public? What had thrown up stubborn obstacles between them when she pushed for a little independence from her station?  
  
What had etched this disturbing pain across his features?  
  
"Something's happened," he had said.  
  
Why did everything start with that? Why didn't people just say right out what was wrong? But even as she thought that, she dreaded hearing what he would say.  
  
"A few weeks ago, Leo came to me with - a situation." His steady voice braced her, allowed her to control the mounting panic.  
  
Leo. It was always Leo. She almost felt sorry for him being the fall guy. Almost.  
  
She watched his jaw work as he pushed on. "Ron Butterfield has received some - threats."  
  
"Threats to Ron?" That didn't seem right, but her anxious brain refused to clear itself enough to make sense.  
  
"To Ron? No." His silence seemed calculated to give her the chance to figure it out. Or maybe he just couldn't quite say what he had to say.  
  
Oh God. Threats to Jed, then. Oh God. "What kinds of threats?" she finally managed, having an idea that she didn't like at all.  
  
He swallowed. "Death threats."  
  
Dear God. Even though she knew this must be par for the course for the President of the United States, it was still horrifying to face it directly. Anger swept over her, directed at no one in particular. There was no one at which to direct it. How could someone threaten Jed Bartlet? Why would someone want to hurt him? Despite differences in politics, despite wins and losses between the White House and Congress, everyone knew that this President was respected across the parties, even admired and - in some circles - loved. It made her queasy to think that some idiot out there wanted to see him harmed. Hadn't he already paid his dues at Rosslyn? Wasn't one assassination attempt in an administration enough?  
  
"What's - what's Ron doing about it?" she wondered. He'd better be doing something. She wasn't about to lose her husband. Not now. Not after all they'd been through, not after all they'd overcome.  
  
Jed clasped her hands harder, as if to let a little of his strength leap to her. "That's the reason for the increased security - for no rope line." His grimace revealed how much that displeased him. He lived for the crowds, for the people.  
  
"Good," she decided. "I'm glad Ron's putting his foot down. Jed, if there's a credible threat to you, you need to pay attention to it. There are enough crazy people out there already."  
  
But he didn't smile at her or agree. Instead, his face darkened with an emotion she almost identified as sheer hate. But Jed Bartlet did not hate.  
  
"Donna - " he began, then fell silent.  
  
She waited for him to draw his words together.  
  
"Donna, these threats aren't - they aren't against me." His eyes held hers, pleaded with her to understand, not to make him say it. But she simply stared, not sure exactly what he was telling her.  
  
"What do - what do you mean?" Surely not what she thought. Surely not.  
  
"They aren't against me," he repeated in a whisper, as if he didn't trust his voice to back him.  
  
"Then who - " Her? There were threats against her? What a strange thought, one that had never occurred to her before. What a strange notion that someone would want to - to kill her. It was so bizarre that she didn't even feel the least big scared about it.  
  
"Okay," she said, for lack of any other response. An ironic smile crossed her lips. "I didn't know I'd pissed anybody off recently - except maybe you."  
  
Some of the anxiety dropped from him, replaced by confusion. He cocked his head suddenly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, Jed. I know we've been - a little tense lately. I'm not sure why, but I must have, well, I guess I said something, or did something - "  
  
He stood in one smooth motion, bringing her with him so that his hands clasped her shoulders and held her firmly. "Why do you think - have I - "  
  
"And you haven't been exactly subtle about not wanting to be around me or to touch me." That hurt to say, but she felt better. At least they were talking again. "I understand," she allowed. "Having a baby does things to a woman's body. I'm not as attractive - "  
  
She got no further. His hands tightened on her, his eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God," he breathed, pain hardening his features. "Oh, Donna, how could you think - Have I made you feel - " He closed his eyes for a moment and swore harshly. "Son of a bitch!"  
  
Not sure if he was angry with her or with himself, she waited him out, let him finish before she probed deeper to find out what she had done wrong.  
  
After a few seconds, he looked at her again, the regret tightening the skin around his eyes. "Baby, I'm so sorry. How could you think I wouldn't want to touch you or be with you? My God, you are so beautiful."  
  
"But Margaret said it was hard for you to be around me." Even though she didn't doubt his love anymore, the pain from that comment still cut.  
  
He stepped back, dropping her hands in shock. "What?"  
  
"She heard you tell Leo." He couldn't deny that.  
  
She expected guilt or anger or maybe even a profession that Margaret hadn't heard right. Instead, he just laughed lightly and shook his head.  
  
"Well, hell." Leaning in and kissing her gently, he asked, "Do you know why I said that?"  
  
Oh God, he really had said it. Swallowing, she shook her head.  
  
"Do you remember that night - or maybe it was morning - when I - " His voice fell off, regret and a little embarrassment softening it. "I must have been dreaming. You were touching me, stroking me, and, man, it felt so good. And before I knew it I was - I was - I had - well, I was making love to you. I was - inside you." He grimaced, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "You cried out and I realized I had hurt you. I felt like - like an idiot. Like a cad."  
  
Cad? Only Jed Bartlet would think to use that word. She would have smiled if he hadn't looked so miserable.  
  
Her eyes clouded at the memory. Was this why he had avoided her all this time? He was afraid of that happening again? Dear God, why hadn't they talked about it? What a waste of worry and anxiety.  
  
"I couldn't trust myself, Donna," he confessed, blushing. "You - you drive me crazy."  
  
And she blushed a little herself. But she couldn't push back the touch of irritation either. "Josiah Bartlet," she snapped. "I cannot believe that you didn't tell me this. I cannot believe we've been dancing around each other for three weeks thinking - Do you have any idea what I've been going through? What I've been thinking?"  
  
The expression on his face answered that question. It was a sudden flash of realization, of guilt.  
  
"I thought you were sick. I thought you didn't - you didn't want me anymore."  
  
"What?" Total incredulity lifted his voice a register. "I could never - Donna, do you know how much I want you? How much I need you?"  
  
She let her eyes drop to his trousers and saw, even then, the evidence of their closeness.  
  
"Why did you think I was sick?" he wondered, his head tilting almost like a puppy's curious stare.  
  
"You were distracted. You forgot things, or maybe you weren't even listening. You were tired. Even Zoey noticed."  
  
A shadow fell on his face and he nodded. "Yeah. Well, that's also part of - that goes back to the - situation."  
  
Oh yeah. The situation. Funny how such a generic word could take the rawness out of something. It didn't alarm you nearly as much as "death threat." No wonder he had been preoccupied, distracted. His wife was sent death threats. She supposed it was certainly cause enough.  
  
"Don't worry about me, Jed," she soothed with a bravado she didn't really feel. "Ron will take care of things. I'm not worried." Well, not much, anyway.  
  
But his eyes stayed dark and he pulled her close to him. "Donna, the threats aren't against you, either - not exactly."  
  
Now she was confused. There were threats, but they weren't against him - or her. Then why -  
  
As the horrible truth dawned on her, she felt her legs weakening, fought against the nausea that pushed up her throat. If it weren't for his arms around her, she had no doubt she would have sunk to the floor.  
  
"Donna!" Alarm sharpened his voice. He held her tightly and eased her down onto the couch. "Listen, it's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen. It's going to be okay."  
  
How could he say that? Some maniac, some evil person had threatened her child, his child. How could he stand there and tell her it would be okay?  
  
A sigh lifted his shoulders, then dropped them again. "See, this is why - "  
  
"How many?" she asked, not looking at him. "When? What is Ron doing about it? What are you doing about it?"  
  
Calm. His voice was so calm, as if he knew he must counter her rising hysteria. "Only one," he told her. "It's probably innocuous, but we check everything out."  
  
But he couldn't fool her. They wouldn't have reacted so strongly for a common threat. This was something more, something worse. "Tell me," she demanded, her eyes catching his hard. "Tell me."  
  
With a sigh, he complied. "The letter arrived two days after Thanksgiving. It says - it says John Thomas is a product of sin, that he shouldn't live as proof of - of something created by lust and debauchery."  
  
Lust and debauchery? What she had with Jed was beautiful. Anyway, how could someone blame a child even if that were true?"  
  
"Why does Ron think it's more dangerous than any of the others?" She wondered where that even voice came from. Surely it wasn't her voice.  
  
"There was evidence, Ron thought, that - well, that this person was watching you. It stated that if you had J.T. with you - " He swallowed and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes. " - they would kill him."  
  
Dear God. He had known this for three weeks, had let this eat at him without being able to share it with her. All to protect her. Noble. Stupid.  
  
"But I couldn't count on them waiting for him. I wasn't sure they wouldn't go after you anyway, so - "  
  
"So that's why no shopping," she finished for him.  
  
He nodded. "I couldn't tell you, Donna. I didn't know how to tell you someone wanted to kill our child. It is inconceivable."  
  
Her eyes closed and when she opened them she was in his arms, clinging to him, pressing her face against his neck, breathing his name through her tears. She needed him to hold her, to comfort her. Maybe he had been right to keep silent, if it kept her from feeling this way for three weeks. Maybe she was better off oblivious. But not now. Now she knew, and now, at least, he had someone with whom to share the fear.  
  
"This person knows that J.T. was - was conceived before - "  
  
"Shh," he soothed. "Doesn't matter. Don't think about that."  
  
"But questions could be asked. What happens if you are asked?" It was a legitimate concern, she felt, even if it was not a pleasant one.  
  
But he just smiled and stroked her hair. "I'll tell them the truth."  
  
"Which is - "  
  
"You seduced me with your charms and your siren song lured me into your bed. I was powerless in your arms."  
  
The grin dispelled some of her fear and she found a new strength in that secure smile, in those reassuring eyes, in the solid frame against her.  
  
"I'm still singing the siren song," she whispered at his ear as they leaned into each other. After a few moments, she became aware that his shirt was still unbuttoned, that her fingers had found themselves wrapped around the curls of hair on his chest, that his hands had strayed lower to run over her hips, to press her into him. Loosening her grip, she skimmed down his stomach to ease open his belt buckle and lower the zipper of his pants, deciding they had both been patient long enough. After all, there was no law that said she had to wait for the doctor's blessing.  
  
The abrupt sensation of her touch jerked his hips forward, pulled an agonized groan from deep within his chest. She briefly remembered that he once planned to be a priest and could not imagine how he would have managed that. He was too responsive, too eager, too damned good at sex not to have been a serious and frequent participant. She closed her hand around him, silk and steel together.  
  
"Donna," he gasped, fumbling for her wrists. "Stop - "  
  
"I don't want to," she breathed, feeling the warmth between her thighs, the tingle of anticipation for him move inside her again.  
  
"No. I can't - it's too ris-" He broke off abruptly and she might have wondered what he was going to say if she had not been so completely caught up in her own need. Instead, he eased her fingers away from his eagerly responding body, looking as if it were the very last thing he really wanted to do. "We can't do this, yet," he protested, the strain stretching his tone. "You haven't seen the doctor, and I haven't - I don't - I can't hurt you again."  
  
Love swept over her at his concern. "Oh, Jed," she said, "I'm okay now. It'll be okay."  
  
But he had somehow found the will to hold himself back. "No," he insisted. "I won't do that. I will not hurt you. It's not long now, anyway, is it? Maybe by that time - " He stopped himself and again she almost asked what he was going to say, but the hope he gave her overcame her curiosity.  
  
"Two days after Christmas," she said. "Four more days." An eternity.  
  
"Okay," he decided. "Four more days. We can wait." But his expression contradicted his words. Still, he stepped back and zipped his pants, which was no easy task considering the insistent erection that showed no signs of leaving him.  
  
"But - "  
  
"It'll be a nice Christmas present, the most memorable one I'll get." A smirk, too long absent, curved his lips. "Unless Gino decides to deck me again."  
  
Oh, but that grin was good to see. "If Gino actually talks to you, I'll be surprised," she figured.  
  
"Well, just in case, Ron's sticking close to me while he's around." It was meant to be a joke, but the circumstances reminded them of the real reason Ron would stick close. More somber, he took her hands in his. "It's going to be okay, Donna," he insisted. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you or to J.T. I would die first."  
  
And he would, which didn't make her feel at all better. Still, she smiled and nodded, yearning for the next four days to pass.  
  
And deciding maybe she would create that Christmas list for Jonah, after all.  
  
She suddenly had an idea for a present. 


	7. Chapter Seven

This is the last installment in "All the Way," but for those of you who have been reading this - and you have been great with the feedback - there will be another story coming in a little while. Maybe I'll never finish with Jed and Donna. Who knows?  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: "Celestial Navigation" Rating: R Disclaimer: These are not my characters.  
  
All the Way - Chapter Seven A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
The smile wouldn't stay off her lips. As much as she tried to hide it, to maintain an expression of normal pleasantry, the smirk insisted on pushing through. In fact, it threatened to become an outright grin, and it was only partially because it was her favorite day of the year.  
  
Christmas Eve. Not Christmas. Because, although Christmas was full of celebration and gift-giving, it was usually also tinged with the knowledge that all they had anticipated for 364 days was here and it would be another 364 days before it came again. But Christmas Eve - the excitement still lay before them, the surprise, the fellowship, the memories. All the good things were to come. Yes, Christmas Eve was definitely her favorite day of the year.  
  
And if things worked out like she planned, she figured it might become Jed's, as well.  
  
It took only one phone call, one favor from a sympathetic Dr. Carlstein, who obviously recalled the President's eagerness over her suggestion for the natural inducement of labor at their last pre-delivery visit. Now the First Lady did her best to sneak through the West Wing, almost deserted for the holidays, except for a few workaholics like her husband - and Leo. And since Leo was still there, so was Margaret.  
  
"Hey!" she greeted casually, pleased to see the willowy secretary in jeans, at least.  
  
Margaret shook her head. "I hope you've come to drag them away. I swear I don't think Leo has any idea that tomorrow is Christmas."  
  
"Well, he'd better. He and Mallory are supposed to join Jed and me for dinner, along with my folks."  
  
"He'll be there. I was sent out earlier to purchase gifts for everyone." Her usual sarcasm crept through the tone. "No sense waiting until the last minute."  
  
Donna laughed. "Well, he's doing better than Jed. He claims he's making the stuffing himself, but I have yet to see him even gather ingredients. I have a feeling we might be forced to consume a stuffing-less Christmas feast."  
  
Lowering her voice and glancing around to check for eavesdroppers, as if anyone else was left in the building, Margaret asked, "Did you see her?"  
  
That grin appeared again. "Yeah."  
  
"And?"  
  
She just nodded.  
  
Margaret sighed. "Well, thank goodness."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Leaning closer, as if she conveyed a state secret, the secretary confided, "He's been snapping at everyone today - on Christmas Eve. Charlie's given him a wide berth. Josh looks like a whipped puppy. Even Toby is staying clear. Of course Ms. Fiderer just tosses it back to him, but I think - well, I think maybe he needs a little - stress relief." She blushed deep red at her own blatancy.  
  
Donna felt her cheeks warm, as well. "Margaret!"  
  
"I'm stating a fact. Let's just say there would be many appreciate staff members if you decided to - uh, hold a private conference with him this morning. I can even predict that the country would run a little more smoothly."  
  
Donna glanced at the closed door past her friend, imagining the next door behind that one. She'd already planned to give Jed an early Christmas present that night, but Margaret's comments prodded her to consider pushing the event up a little. If she could convince him to take a break, to go back to the Residence with her for a little while - and she figured it wouldn't take long, not for either of them - maybe it would help him start his holiday with a bang, so to speak.  
  
"You think Ms. Fiderer would work me in?" she wondered.  
  
"I wouldn't doubt it," Margaret assured her, "considering that she is probably getting tired of running interference for everyone. She'd probably appreciate the assist."  
  
"Listen, I've got to feed J.T. Then, I'll - " Again that chagrined smirk tugged at her lips. "- then I'll - arrange a - conference with him - for the good of the country."  
  
As straight-faced as she could manage - which wasn't very - Margaret said, "You are a true patriot, Mrs. Bartlet."  
  
Donna Moss Bartlet tried not to rush her son through his meal. After all, it would only make him cranky and probably interfere with the reason she was hurrying in the first place. Still, she didn't let him linger too long, as he had gotten used to doing, napping a little when he got tired of sucking. He fretted a bit with the loss of her complete attention, but the argument of a full belly eventually seemed to be sufficient.  
  
After a satisfying burp and diaper change, he lay in the crib, kicking happily. The baby was both healthy and hearty - quite hearty, in fact. At the first doctor's visit, Donna had been insulted to be accused of supplementing mother's milk with formula. She most certainly was not. J.T. simply liked to eat. And he liked to eat a lot. But all the nourishment he received was from her.  
  
But there was someone else who needed nourishment, as well. Nourishment of a different kind. As she walked through the West Wing toward his office, she couldn't help but wonder if everyone knew exactly what she was planning to do. The eyes of those few left to finish their work before heading to their families followed her. Of course, she was the First Lady. Eyes always followed her - and that was something that had taken quite a bit of getting used to. Still, she almost checked her forehead to make sure there wasn't some sign on it that proclaimed, "I'm going to have sex with the President of the United States."  
  
Charlie sat at his desk, Debbie Fiderer across from him. They both looked up as she walked into the outer office, trying desperately not to blush. She wasn't very successful.  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet," Debbie acknowledged, her eyes squinted as usual. Donna always had the feeling she was trying to look through everyone, to find out some bizarre characteristic she could use later. She tried not to be intimidated by her, but usually failed. Even Jed seemed a little wary when he dealt with her.  
  
Jed. That reminded her of why she was there. "Good morning," she greeted as casually as possible. "Is the President available - for a conference?"  
  
Charlie traded glances with his colleague. "Well, he's got a meeting with the National Security Advisor at 11:00 and with the Secretary of State at 11:30."  
  
"Oh." Damn it. She should have made an appointment.  
  
"I can see if he's got just a minute," he offered, seeing the disappointment on her face. But she saw him flinch a bit at the thought of interrupting his boss, who was in some particularly nasty mood today.  
  
She sighed. Seven weeks or not, it would take longer than a minute. "No. That's okay. I'll just - "  
  
"Charlie," Debbie said, her eyes shifting as she twirled a pencil adroitly between her fingers. "Wasn't that meeting with Doctor McNally postponed until this afternoon?"  
  
He frowned at her in confusion. "I don't think so. He specifically told me - "  
  
"Nope," she insisted pointedly, tapping the notebook that held the President's daily schedule. "Definitely postponed." Glancing up, she shrugged. "So I guess he's free, Mrs. Bartlet. Why don't you go on in?"  
  
A little confused herself, Donna nodded her thanks and stepped toward the door, Charlie's narrowed gaze following her across the room. As she touched the knob, Debbie Fiderer leaned in closer and whispered, "Thank God you're here. He's been biting everyone's heads off this morning. If you'll pardon me for saying so, m'am, maybe he'll feel better after your - conference."  
  
Oh God. Maybe there was a sign on her forehead, after all.  
  
The secretary's voice grew even softer. "And of course for important conferences I'd never let the President be disturbed. Conferences like that usually take at least - "  
  
Was this really happening? " - thirty minutes," Donna suggested, unable to keep her voice from cracking. It was one thing to plan a seduction of your husband. It was an entirely different thing to have accomplices.  
  
"Thirty minutes," the secretary confirmed with a nod.  
  
Now she couldn't keep the blush from her cheeks. No doubt, as soon as she entered the office, Nancy McNally would be getting the word that her meeting with the President was postponed until after lunch. Glancing once more at Debbie Fiderer, she saw a surprising mix of understanding, compassion, and amusement on that unique face. With such an ally, she reassessed her plans to steal Jed from the Oval Office. Maybe there were other, even more exciting options. Quietly, she stepped into the room, noting that someone closed the door just as quietly behind her.  
  
He didn't look up, probably was so certain it was his appointment, he didn't need to. Instead, his hand scratched out a few more notes and she took the moment to watch him. Coat off, shirtsleeves rolled up, tie loosened, hair a little scattered, glasses perched low on his nose. Very nice.  
  
"I'll be with you in a minute, Nancy," he called, still not raising his head, the tension clear in his tone.  
  
In her best seductive voice, she replied, "No rush, Mister President. I'd never want you to rush."  
  
The pen paused in mid-stroke and his eyes peered out over his glasses. For a moment, he just stared at her, then a quick smile appeared and he dropped the writing instrument and tossed his glasses on the desk. But as he braced his hands on the chair arms to push up, she walked forward, shaking her head.  
  
"Uh uh. Stay right where you are."  
  
The smile faded; he raised a brow. "What?"  
  
"I just wanted to visit you."  
  
With a sigh, he let himself fall back into the chair. "It's a nice surprise, Donna, but I have a meeting in a minute. Nancy McNally." He leaned toward the intercom. "I'll see if Debbie can free me for lun - "  
  
Her hand caught his before he could push the button and she leaned deep over his desk, feeling the welcome tingle inside as she watched his eyes fall to the curve of her breasts, almost exposed over the top of her dress. When she pulled back, he swallowed hard and glanced nervously at the door.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Uh, Donna, is there something specific you need?"  
  
There was her opening. She looked at him from under hooded eyelids, put as much seduction into her tone as she could. "Oh, yes," she assured him, "there is something I need."  
  
He would have to be dense indeed to miss her intention, and Jed Bartlet was certainly not dense.  
  
His color had risen - among other things. "Donna, I'd really like to - well, surely you know that. But I really do have a meeting." Now he frowned.  
  
"It's Christmas Eve, Jed," she murmured huskily. "Leo's role is Scrooge, not yours."  
  
Fighting the effects of her body so close to his, he sighed. "I know everyone wants to leave, but - "  
  
"No buts." Her breath fluttered across his ear.  
  
"But - "  
  
"I said, 'no buts,'" she ordered. "Scoot back."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Scoot your chair back."  
  
He did, but the suspicion on his face was clear. "What are you - "  
  
Her long legs straddled him and she heard him swallow again. It was almost a gulp. "You're not making this easy," he accused.  
  
"No, I want to make it hard," she assured him.  
  
Another gulp. "Well, then you're doing a good job."  
  
Oh yeah. She could see that. Her hand slid down his chest and past his belt buckle. She almost lost her control when her fingers brushed the straining bulge under the tight material.  
  
"Donna," he groaned, unable to keep from arching into her touch. "I can't - we can't - "  
  
"See, I'm here on official business," she stated.  
  
"Uh, official business?" She saw the doubt in his eyes.  
  
"Duty to my country," she declared, tossing the end of his tie over his shoulder, unbuttoning his shirt, and pushing the crisp fabric aside to lick a nipple.  
  
He gasped. "Donna, I don't want to discourage you, certainly, but I really don't have the time - "  
  
But she ignored him and continued. "Keeping their leader inspired and on top of his game."  
  
Always intrigued by a pun, he grinned at her. "On top?"  
  
"Any way you want it," she purred, nibbling on his chest hair. "You've been tense today, snapping at everyone."  
  
"I have not -"  
  
Sliding off his legs, she let her lips trail down his stomach. She was gaining his full attention now. "Yes, you have. And it's only right that I see to the morale of the staff."  
  
"The staff?"  
  
"The staff."  
  
"How do you plan to do that?"  
  
She grinned up at him before she reached her ultimate destination. "Oh, I have a plan."  
  
One eyebrow lifted in question. "I hope it's better than Josh's secret plan to fight inflation."  
  
"Oh yes," she assured him. "As a matter of fact, I'm counting on severe inflation."  
  
Delicately, she danced across the hard ridge and he closed his eyes. "Oh God. I think you've got it. Do you know what you do to me?" he asked in a moan.  
  
Yes she did. And she loved that she could do it. Her hand rested on the taut zipper, felt the strong pulse beneath her palm.  
  
"Baby, you've got to stop. I'm going to - you've just got to stop. I mean, Nancy's going to be here in - and I'm about to - you've just got to stop." His voice was so pained that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.  
  
Smiling, she decided to relieve his fears. "Your meeting with the NSA has been postponed until this afternoon."  
  
His eyes opened wider. "Really?"  
  
She stroked him with the back of her hand. "Yeah."  
  
"Uh, still, we need to wait for you to - "  
  
"I thought I'd give you a Christmas present."  
  
"But it's not Christmas yet," he reminded.  
  
"Ah, but Christmas has - come - early."  
  
He swallowed and made one more valiant effort to stand. "Donna, I don't want to - I'm afraid I'll - "  
  
She shook her head. "You're not going to hurt me, Jed," she smiled.  
  
His jaw worked. "How can you tell? Donna, I don't want - "  
  
She twirled his chest hair playfully. "By the way, my appointment with Doctor Carlstein went quite well this morning."  
  
All right. The double take was almost worth the whole plan. She watched as realization hit him, as his eyes lit, a fiery desire behind them.  
  
"Your appointment - this morning?"  
  
She nodded and squeezed him. He groaned again, falling back into the chair as he jerked in her grasp.  
  
"Umm, Donna. I meant that about stopping. It's been too long." His face had flushed and she could tell he didn't have control. She had taken him by surprise.  
  
She grinned and relaxed her grip. "No, it's just right."  
  
Too concentrated on maintaining control, he missed that pun. He swallowed hard and managed to ask, "You saw Doctor Carlstein this morning?"  
  
Another nod.  
  
"I thought it was next week."  
  
"Merry Christmas," she murmured, kissing his fingers.  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Never more."  
  
She had his pants open now, slid down the zipper and enjoyed how he spilled out eagerly, pushing against the thin fabric of his boxers. They provided little restraint. With his hips lifted just enough, she lowered his underwear so that his erection thrust up against her. Seeing from his condition that she couldn't tease much, she took him into her mouth gently. Even that light touch drew a powerful pulse and deep groan.  
  
"Okay," he gasped, clutching her wrist, "let's go."  
  
She lifted off him just enough to say, "Go where?" Then she got back to work.  
  
"Ahh - go - to the - Residence."  
  
"Uh uh." She didn't want to stop even for a minute. Didn't want to let him go now that she finally had him.  
  
"Donna - " he warned. "Do you really intend to - well, right here in the Oval Office?"  
  
And suddenly she realized that, yes, she did intend to - right there in the Oval Office. Standing, she straddled him again, drew his hands to her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress higher until he realized she wore nothing underneath.  
  
"We can't - " he tried one more time.  
  
"I want you to make love to me, Jed. Right now."  
  
The restraint was crumbling, giving way to his own overpowering desire. "Right now?" he echoed.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Right here?"  
  
She nodded again.  
  
One last protest. "But someone could come - "  
  
"I'm counting on that," she quipped.  
  
"But - "  
  
"Ms. Fiderer has guaranteed me thirty minutes."  
  
She felt his body jerk, but not in desire. A certain fleck of terror flashed in his eye. "What? Dear God, do you mean that insane woman is standing guard outside while we - "  
  
She nodded, laughing at the alarm on his face.  
  
"She's out there right now selling tickets!" he declared, making one last attempt to untangle himself.  
  
But it was half-hearted, and Donna's hands reaching down to cup him were persuasive enough to discourage any further resistance.  
  
"Oh, Donna," he moaned, and she felt him give up and push against her. "I tried - "  
  
She ground her hips against him harder, feeling his thickness press against her, gasping as his fingers danced between them, slipping inside her. She had been ready for him for weeks, and now that they had been given a green light, she knew he could feel how slick she was, how hot, the anticipation growing all that time. And he knew it was all for him.  
  
A low moan slid from his lips as she curled her fingers around the pulsing shaft and slipped it into her warm folds. His fingers brought her almost to the edge, his lips sucked at hers, and now she didn't think she could wait. He seemed quite willing, himself, to go along, so she braced her legs and lifted off him just long enough to guide him lower, feeling the thick head probe. She had planned to ease him into her slowly, sensually, teasingly, but as soon as she felt the hard pulse, she knew that simply was not going to happen. Her body reacted involuntarily, thrusting forward. She slid down on him, moaning louder than she had planned as he filled her, hard and hot.  
  
His head fell back, his mouth opened in a deep groan, and she could tell he fought not to climax right then.  
  
"Oh, I've missed you," she whispered, her voice husky with arousal.  
  
Despite her assurances to him, she hadn't been positive that it wouldn't hurt. It was to her own relief that she discovered it didn't. In fact, the sheer pleasure that flooded her as he pressed inside was so incredible, she whimpered softly. He jerked back, trying to pull out, but she held him in.  
  
"No. It's wonderful."  
  
"Donna," he groaned, his lips sliding down her neck as his hands lifted her hips and pulled them back down hard onto him. "Oh, Donna, I don't - I can't - you feel too good."  
  
They both tried to slow things down, to wait, but neither had the will. Unable to stop himself, he began thrusting up, strong, sure motions that carried him deep inside. His fingers still played between them and she dug her fingers in his hair and hung on.  
  
"Come with me, Baby," he whispered roughly at her ear. "Come with me."  
  
She had no doubt that she would, and it would be soon, too.  
  
He flicked with his finger, then stroked both himself and her smooth folds where they met and thrust together. Her breath caught in her throat. He knew she liked that. And she did, indeed, like it. She liked it a lot.  
  
He pushed harder; then, with a sweep of his arm, cleared the desk surface. She arched back until he grabbed her under the hips and braced his legs, lifting her onto the polished top, still inside her, but now pushing even harder and even deeper. Startled, she grabbed at him, but then realized what he needed and wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting him, drawing him far into her. Tears burned her eyes with the ecstasy of the long, powerful strokes, until she forgot where they were and cried out his name, the spasms rocking her, contracting around him as he continued his thrusts.  
  
There were times he could be so gentle, so tender, whispering lovingly in her ear, running light caresses over her skin. And then there were times like this. No gentleness here. No tenderness. No light caresses. And she didn't want any. She wanted to feel him driving, wanted to hear his groans, wanted to see the delicious agony on his face when he came.  
  
This was dangerous. This was wanton. This was exciting.  
  
She arched against him hard, running a hand down his slick chest, tightening her legs around him to help him sink deep inside. And he did.  
  
"Donna, I'm - " His jaw tightened and in only another few moments, she felt him stiffen, felt him jerk within her, welcomed the familiar hot pulses that flooded her, heard the groan of relief rumble in his chest.  
  
The warmth between her legs, the pounding in her chest, and the tingling in her fingers and toes were delicious evidence of a thoroughly satisfying orgasm. He rocked lazily a little longer, sliding their bodies together in a dance she had missed the past seven weeks. Finally, he slowed and lay still. For a minute, they didn't move, just enjoyed the extreme intimacy of still being joined, dreading the moment they would separate. Then she thought about what it would look like if someone walked in on them. Or peeked through the windows. She had forgotten the windows.  
  
But a quick glance revealed no peeping Toms, or Tobys, or Joshs. And the secret service had made themselves scarce, as well. She definitely owed Ms. Fiderer.  
  
After a long, sweet kiss, he smiled down at her. "I just want to stay here for a while," he murmured.  
  
Sounded good to her.  
  
Then he laughed ruefully. "But I think I'm gonna be paying for this later."  
  
She frowned. "Your back?" He had actually lifted her onto the desk, after all. And it had been no leisurely loving they shared.  
  
"It's okay," he assured her, but she caught the grimace as he pushed up slowly, reluctantly, bracing his hands on the desk. She pouted a little as she felt him slide from her body. It had been such a good feeling to have him inside again. She straightened her dress as he pulled his pants back up. Their eyes met, and they suddenly broke into slightly embarrassed laughter at the realization of what they had just done.  
  
"I believe it's been christened," he noted of the room.  
  
"Yes, I believe so. Definitely christened." She grinned at him, seeing that the hair she absolutely loved was now a bit wild and falling over his forehead. His faced was flushed, and a few scattered drops of perspiration dotted his brow.  
  
Her heart almost ached as she watched him, remembering her fears - fears than had been premature, that had been unnecessary, but fears that would always be with her, nevertheless.  
  
"Jed?" she said, having to say it, despite the lightness of the moment.  
  
"Hmm?" He wasn't really paying attention, was still tucking in his shirt.  
  
"Jed, I meant it. I meant what I said."  
  
"Said about what?"  
  
"All the way. I want you to know I will go all the way with you."  
  
He paused in mid-tuck, peering from under arched brows and grinning. "I'm pretty sure you just did."  
  
Okay, she walked right into that one. "You know what I mean. The song I played for you the other day. I chose it for a reason. I'm gonna love you all the way. No matter what. Whatever the future - "  
  
His fingers touched her lips; his arms pulled her close. "Shh. I know. Dear God, don't you think - don't you think I know that. But I won't blame you if the time comes when - if you can't - "  
  
Now it was her turn to clamp a hand over his mouth. "Stop it right there. There are no ifs. You'll be there for me, won't you?"  
  
Allowing her to keep him silent, he nodded.  
  
"I'll be there for you. All the way. All the way."  
  
And they fell against each other, touching, not with the heated, frantic passion of the previous moments, but with the secure, committed caresses of their dedication and love. She did not doubt him or herself.  
  
They would love each other all the way.  
  
"You have an 11:30," she told him finally, pleased at how relaxed he looked now. The Secretary of State owed her one.  
  
He ran his fingers lightly up and down her spine. "You sure?"  
  
"'Fraid so," she murmured against his lips, her body still humming from his talents.  
  
"Damn."  
  
She raised a suggestive brow and twirled a few strands of chest hair before she finished buttoning his shirt. "But I think I can arrange another conference after you're done with the Secretary."  
  
Now he grinned, straightening his tie. "I'll get rid of him fast. What's he got to talk about anyway? Nuclear war? Terrorism? First things first. I'll meet you in the Residence."  
  
"See you in about forty minutes, then," she confirmed, sliding her hands down his body, delighted to feel him already stirring again in anticipation.  
  
"If I can wait that long," he muttered as she stepped toward the door. She glanced back to see him move deliberately behind his desk.  
  
His eyes followed her out and she tried not to grin too broadly as she walked past Charlie and Debbie. The young man seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes, but the secretary tilted her head curiously and asked, "Productive conference, Mrs. Bartlet?"  
  
"Oh yes," Donna replied, and the grin just wouldn't stay off her face.  
  
Charlie had turned to greet the Secretary of State, who shifted nervously, having heard, no doubt, that the President was being rather difficult today. Not anymore, she figured. He nodded politely to her before entering Jed's office, but she noted that he didn't quite look her in the eye. A disturbing suspicion tickled her brain.  
  
And it was only confirmed after the door had closed. Although she couldn't distinguish the words, she could hear the low undertone of Jed's greeting and the Secretary's response. And they weren't even speaking loudly. Dear God! If someone had reason to scream -  
  
She felt the red heat flood her cheeks and glanced up at the two remaining people in the room. Charlie still avoided her gaze, but Debbie Fiderer regarded her with a mysterious smile.  
  
Hesitantly, she smiled back, suppressing the flash of panic that grabbed at her. She could see the quote now, the one Charlie and Debbie could put in their book - should either chose to write one: "Of course, there was the time the President and First Lady had mind-numbing sex in the Oval Office. Everyone within twenty yards of the closed doors could hear - "  
  
But then, with a touch of mischievous pride, she decided she didn't care. Even if the entire Cabinet knew by supper what had happened, Jed probably wouldn't mind. In fact, she'd bet he'd find it rather humorous that they were interested in it at all.  
  
So she allowed the grin the creep out again and faced Ms. Fiderer and Charlie with her head held high. "Could you please mark another conference on the President's calendar for lunch?"  
  
The secretary knowingly returned the grin and stepped to her desk to make a note on the schedule. "12:00 to 12:30?" she asked, face completely innocent.  
  
With as much casualness as she could manage, Donna shrugged. "Better make it 12:00 to 1:00," she decided confidently.  
  
Ignoring Charlie's sudden coughing attack, she strolled away from the office, already anticipating what no doubt awaited her - for lunch.  
  
And maybe supper, too.  
  
And perhaps a midnight snack -  
  
"All the Way"  
  
Lyrics by Sammy Cahn Music by Jimmy Van Heusen  
  
"When somebody loves you, It's no good unless he loves you All the way.  
  
Happy to be near you When you need someone to cheer you All the way.  
  
Taller than the tallest tree is, That how it's got to feel. Deeper than the deep blue sea is, That's how deep it goes, if it's real.  
  
When somebody needs you, It's no good unless he needs you All the way.  
  
Through the good or lean years And for all those in-between years, Come what may.  
  
Who knows where the road will lead us? Only a fool would say. But if you let me love you, It's for sure I'm gonna love you All the way." 


End file.
